Ireland
by FlatOutCrazy
Summary: A collection of one-shots about Sybil and Tom's life in Ireland before their wedding.
1. Charming

She had been taught her whole life to be proper, ladylike, dignified. She had been taught how to stand, how to walk, how to curtsy, how to talk in a way that told everyone exactly her place in society.

But now, leaning over the side of the boat and vomiting into the sea, Sybil felt anything but dignified.

She had been absolutely delighted to eat from actual _street vendors _and Tom had laughed at her excitement, but she was regretting it now. Fish and chips were much less enjoyable coming up as they'd been going down. Tom was standing behind her with a strong arm around her waist, steadying her as she heaved and holding back her hair as the wind whipped it into her face.

"Oh, this is horribly embarrassing, Tom!" She moaned.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about," he said with a chuckle. "Could happen to anyone."

"But it's not happening to _you_." She wiped a sleeve across her mouth. He shrugged.

"Well, I've made the trip before."

"You must have a stronger stomach than I have." She turned around to face him, the stomach in question feeling okay for the moment. He laughed and rubbed her arms.

"Not likely, Nurse Crawley."

She rested her head on his chest, hoping the ground would stop rolling under her feet at some point soon but feeling content to cling to him until it did. He rested his chin on top of her head and they were quiet for a minute before she tipped her head up to look at him.

"You still love me, even though I can't handle the boat ride?"

"I can't very well send you back, can I? You don't have much left to toss over the side. Besides, I'm out of money."

She laughed, shaking her head. "What a charming prince I've found."

And even though Mary and all their other society friends may have thought charming came with an inheritance and a title and a house full of servants, Sybil couldn't help but think charming was a man who bought her fish and chips on the dock and then held her hair as she threw it back into the sea.


	2. Meet the Parents

Sybil was so nervous her hands were trembling. It made sense, really—she'd never met anyone's family before, not like this. For one thing, she'd never been engaged to anyone. For another, any men she'd danced with at balls or parties back home had been children of her parents' friends, so she'd already known their family.

But this was Tom's mother. She was meeting his _mother_, the woman who had given birth to him and nurtured him and cultivated his loud mouth and wild ideas. This woman would be her _mother-in-law_. Sybil felt slightly dizzy at the thought. So far all she knew was her name, Cathleen, and that she was stubborn and strong and had raised six children mostly alone, first because her husband worked long hours and then because he'd died. She seemed incredibly formidable. Would they constantly bicker and fight against one another, as her mother and Granny did? She didn't want that. And she didn't see how she could possibly not get along with someone who was part of Tom's life, especially someone so important as his mother.

She was excited, too, under the nervousness. She was meeting his mother! This woman was to thank for Tom's stubbornness, his irrepressible hope, and his patience. Sybil certainly owed her a lifetime of thanks for the patience, if nothing else.

"Are you ready?" Tom asked, squeezing her hand gently as he stopped in front of a small house. The grass was a bit long, the fence was sagging in a few places, and the roof was missing a shingle or two, but it was tidy, at least from the outside. Tom had a strange look on his face, and it took her a moment to realize he was self-conscious. Tom Branson was self-conscious—what a phenomenon. But just because the idea was novel didn't mean she liked it, or wanted that emotion to stick around. She liked her proud, passionate Irishman, so she kissed his cheek and smiled at him.

"Very ready." She assured him in a voice that was stronger than she felt. He wasn't very content with a kiss on the cheek, so he turned her head with a thumb at her chin and kissed her softly.

"Alright then." He murmured against her lips.

He squared his shoulders and dropped Sybil's hand to open the door, and she suddenly had the mad urge to recapture his hand before anyone saw them. She just needed something to hold onto, preferably him.

"It's our Tommy boy!" Suddenly the room was loud and full and Sybil felt slightly overwhelmed. There were so _many_ of them, and they were all very loud and disorderly. Granny would have fainted by now, surely. Sybil found herself quite crowded as everyone squeezed closer to Tom, wanting to hug him and shout hello at him. It was very different from her own family, but she didn't think it was bad.

"And you must be Lady Sybil."

She knew at once this was Tom's mother, and not just because she was the only one in the room old enough—she had his eyes, Sybil noticed first, but she also had a very protective look on her face that Sybil felt only a mother could master.

"I'm Sybil. Just Sybil." She was proud of how unwavering her voice was, because her knees were certainly not following suit.

"And how did your family take it, then?" Cathleen didn't sound accusatory, not exactly, but her voice was certainly much colder than when she'd greeted her son. Sybil had to look away for a moment, because the parting with her family had been harder than she'd imagined. Papa had given her his blessing at the funeral, yes, but he hadn't acted very beneficially after. No one had gone to see them off, and Papa hadn't even been in the house when they'd left for the train station. Tom's hand found hers then, and she was very glad.

"I see." Cathleen was still looking at her, and Sybil learned where Tom got those shrewd glances. "And even still, you came."

"I love Tom." Sybil said, chin rising almost reflexively. "There was no turning back once I'd realized that." She blushed slightly as she said it, because she was laying bare her heart to an awful lot of strangers, but the look Tom was giving her was certainly worth it.

"And how'd he fool you into that?" One of his brothers shouted with a laugh, breaking up some of the tension. Introductions came then, with Tom pointing out his brothers—she'd known their names, _Danny, Lee, Joseph, Kenneth_, before they'd gotten there, from stories he'd told her, but she found she couldn't remember who was who, and their wives even less so. Tom didn't even know some of their children. His only sister, Shannon, wasn't there; she had five children and they'd gotten in later than expected. She'd be by in the morning with her husband and boys.

Tom's brothers gathered up their various children and said their goodbyes. Only Kenneth, the youngest, stayed, because he was on a holiday from his station as a chauffeur. Sybil wondered briefly if chauffeuring was something of a family business, and if Cathleen had taught them all to drive, and if so where _she_ had learned to drive, but didn't have time to think much longer on it before Cathleen turned to her and said,

"Why don't I take you up to your room now so you can rest?"

"Oh—yes, okay." Sybil was taken aback. She knew she'd be living there until the wedding, but the phrase _your room_ just seemed so…homey.

"And can't I get a goodnight in?" Tom asked, hands on his hips. Cathleen rolled her eyes.

"Go on, then, but make it quick." She went back into the kitchen, calling down the hall to Kenneth to make sure there were enough blankets set out for Tom.

"Are you going to have to sleep on the floor?" Sybil asked, suddenly conscious of the closeness of the house.

"Well, you're in my old room, and I don't suppose we could share." He grinned at her and raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, but I don't want you to be uncomfortable! Really, Tom, I can sleep on the floor, I don't mind—"

"You would have to be truly mad to ever believe I would let you sleep on the floor while I took a bed." He pulled her close to him. "Have you ever even slept on a floor?"

"Of course I have! I used to pretend I was sleeping in the jungle, or out in the American west, or sometimes even a pirate ship. I had many adventures, you know."

"Did your sisters ever join these adventures?" He asked skeptically.

"Well, no. Mary said she was too mature for silly games and Edith would never sleep on the ground. I had my imaginary friends to keep me company."

He kissed her then, a look in his eyes she couldn't read. "Did you always have to play alone as a child?"

"Not always. Often, yes, but Mary and Edith and I went riding together and hid from our governess together and took walks together. And sometimes my cousin Henry climbed trees with me, when he came to visit from America, although I always got into trouble because he was quite a tattletale."

"I gather you were too adventurous for the kinds of games you were supposed to play as a little girl?"

"Quite. Little girls are not supposed to pretend to be pirates, or treasure hunters, or elephant riders in India, and little girls are _especially_ not supposed to sleep on the floor. I'm afraid I was quite a failure of a little girl."

"I happen to disagree." He said softly. "And how about I make you a promise to climb trees with you and not tattle? And after we're married we can even sleep on the floor and pretend to be elephant riders in the jungle."

She laughed at the thought—two adults, sleeping on the floor, pretending to be in the jungle? But she did like the idea, and told him so with a kiss.

"I'm not sleeping on the floor." He informed her after the kiss. (Well, after the kiss that came after the kiss…that came after the kiss.) "I'm just sharing with Kenneth."

"I'm glad."

"You'll be sleeping in my bed." His voice was so low now it was barely a rumble in his chest, and Sybil felt butterflies rush into her stomach, either at his gravelly tone or the words he was speaking.

"That's enough of that." Cathleen's voice made them both jump, and Tom actually jumped away from her, which made her laugh a little. He looked like a little boy caught sneaking food from the kitchen.

"Goodnight." Sybil said to him with a sweet smile. He glanced at his mother only briefly before leaning in and giving Sybil the quickest kiss she could remember.

"Goodnight." He said as he backed away, leaving her suddenly alone with his mother, and Sybil felt her smile fade.

"You'll be upstairs." Cathleen informed her, leading the way. "We kept Tommy up there because the stairs creak and we'd hear if he was sneaking out." She said it with a look of warning and Sybil could feel her herself blushing. She hadn't been planning to sneak into his bed in the middle of the night! Especially as he was sharing with his brother. She also wanted to ask a lot of questions—if they'd worried he'd sneak out at night, did that mean he'd been wild as a boy? And, more importantly, how often had there been a girl _waiting_ for him to sneak out?

But she pushed those questions aside, because she was feeling shy and, if she admitted it, she was a bit frightened of Cathleen Branson. Her future mother-in-law had been kind enough to agree to Sybil staying there until the wedding, but it seemed she'd agreed to this quite begrudgingly. She certainly hadn't welcomed Sybil with open arms, and Sybil couldn't help wonder which reason it could be—because she was English? Because she was rich? Because she'd been the reason Tom had stayed at Downton longer than he'd planned? Or—this was the one that scared Sybil most of all—did she just simply not _like_ Sybil?

"You should be warm enough." Cathleen broke into her thoughts. "There are extra blankets on the chair just in case."

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Branson."

Cathleen didn't turn to leave. Instead, she fixed Sybil with a look that made her immediately want to squirm. She had no doubt Tom had been completely unable to get away with any sort of mischief as a boy. She felt Cathleen could see right into her brain and read all her thoughts, including the ones about her son that were _not_ the kind of thoughts a Lady should be thinking.

"So I suppose it's the first time you've been away from home?"

"Well, not exactly—I trained as a nurse during the war and my training took me away from home for two months." Sybil knew it sounded foolish. Tom had been away for _six years_ and here she was going on about two months. "But it wasn't far from home." She admitted.

"And I suppose you've never done anything rebellious, neither?" Those eyes! They seemed much harsher than Tom's, but maybe that was because Tom's always held a look of love for her that Cathleen's most certainly did not.

"Rebellious…" Sybil didn't know how to answer the question. "I've many views on the world that my family does not agree with." Sybil suddenly wanted to mention her harem pants but decided it would only make her sound silly. And she certainly didn't want to mention the count in Ripon, not when she had lied to Tom and almost lost him his job.

"So when the rebellion wears off, you'll be ready to head home." Cathleen said it as a statement, not a hint of a question in her voice, and Sybil went very still.

Ah. So that was what Cathleen had been dancing around. She disliked Sybil because she thought Sybil was using Tom as a way to spurn her parents, a way to sow her wild oats. It made Sybil want to shout. She was not a little girl, running away to prove a point. She was not trying to teach her parents a lesson, or looking for a thrill. She looked Cathleen directly in the eyes.

"I love my family very, very much, and leaving hurt them—and me—greatly. I don't always agree with my parents, but I don't do anything I do simply to spite them. I am not a silly little girl who is going to change her mind once the thrill's gone out. I agonized over the choice of leaving my whole life behind. But I did it because I love Tom, and I simply will not be without him. That will never wear off, so no, Mrs. Branson, I will not ever be ready to head home, unless you mean the home I will be making with him."

She felt a little guilty, speaking to Tom's mother that way, but she didn't regret the words and she wouldn't apologize for them. They were all true and if she had to put an advert in the newspaper for people to finally believe her, she would. There was another moment of silence, with Sybil and Cathleen still squared off toe to toe, before Cathleen nodded, lips pursed.

"Alright." It was all she said, but Sybil was able to finally let out a breath she'd been holding. Cathleen left then, and Sybil sank onto the bed. Was that what they all thought of her? That she was some kind of flighty young thing whose affections would change with the wind? She ignored the pang in the bottom of her stomach and quickly readied for bed, only indulging in a few hot tears once she was safely under the covers. She seemed destined to disappoint every family she could possibly have.

But the next morning, when she'd gone down the stairs, Cathleen had nodded at her, and her eyes were much warmer than they'd been previously. She even let Sybil help her make breakfast, a slightly awkward affair as they'd done it in silence and Sybil still wasn't much in the kitchen. And then, once Tom had come out, hair mussed with sleep and rubbing his eyes, Cathleen had asked about their plans for the wedding, and had asked Sybil if she already had a dress, and Sybil felt sure the frost had melted a bit.

Best of all, she overheard Cathleen murmur to Tom when they thought she couldn't hear them, "Seems you've picked a fiery one, Tommy. I suppose things may just work out." And Sybil had smiled and smiled.


	3. In Public

They were walking down the street, holding hands, in the middle of the day. It was a freedom Sybil relished. Anyone could see them, and it didn't matter. They were engaged, and no one could make them hide it anymore. So what if it was a strange street in a foreign country? So what if it was actually quite rare that they didn't have to work on the same afternoon? She couldn't stop smiling.

"Well, you're quite happy today. Nice dreams?" Tom brought her out of her reverie, luckily before she started singing and skipping, which she felt so happy she just might do. She turned her smile to him.

"Tom, I get to walk down the street and hold your hand and not worry about anyone telling me how improper it is. If it's a dream, it's very nice indeed."

His own smile grew, and he picked her up and spun her around, making her laugh and shriek. "And I can kiss you in the street, too, if you'd like." He leaned in and did so, and they both laughed. They were giddy with each other, drunk on their new freedom.

"Tom?" A voice behind them made them both turn. It was a woman, closer to Tom's age than Sybil's, with a beautiful face and bright red hair.

"Hello, Molly." Tom's voice sounded a bit hesitant. The way the two of them were staring at each other made it clear there was a past there, and Sybil suddenly felt the urge to step away to give them privacy. But that was silly, she reminded herself. They'd be married in two weeks' time—Tom didn't need privacy from her, not with another woman.

"I heard you were coming back." Molly said with her eyes still fixed on Tom. "But I didn't realize…" Her eyes flickered to Sybil then. Sybil suddenly wished she were wearing a prettier frock and had bothered to do something more elaborate with her hair; she didn't know who this woman was, but Sybil knew a judgmental glare when one was turned on her.

"This is Sybil." Tom squeezed her hand. "My fiancé."

"It's nice to meet you." Sybil chimed in, hoping she didn't sound as much like a trained parrot as she felt. She dropped Tom's hand to offer it to Molly to shake, but Molly simply stared at her.

"How—how nice." Her voice was strained. "Your mother must be very happy."

"She is," Tom lied. Well, it wasn't _exactly_ a lie. She was sort of happy. Cautiously happy. At least she wasn't _unhappy_ about it.

"And I hear you got a job with Seamus's newspaper. Well done. Looks like some of your crazy dreams may come true, after all."

"Molly, _all_ my crazy dreams are coming true." He said it with a smile at Sybil, and normally she'd smile at how over-the-top he was with his emotions, but she found it hard to smile under this woman's gaze.

"I'm pleased for you, Tom. I best be getting on. Welcome home." She turned and walked away. She hadn't met Sybil's eyes once in the whole encounter. Sybil and Tom continued their walk in thoughtful silence.

"Who was that?" Sybil finally asked after debating with herself for a long moment.

"That…" Tom hesitated. "That's the girl I left behind when I went to Downton."

"Oh." Sybil took a moment to process. "Poor girl."

"Poor girl?" Tom repeated faintly. "What do you mean?"

"I just mean—well, it's sad for her, Tom. Here you are, back after all these years, and you've brought me with you, while she was probably waiting all this time hoping you'd come back to _her_. It's very sad. And then to have to meet us in the street; how awful."

"Only you would be worried about her feelings!" Tom laughed incredulously. "Well, would you like me to call her back? Give her a proper hello after all this time?"

"Oh, hush." Sybil gave him a little swat. "I'm very _glad_ you left her behind, of course. I just feel sad for her. I'm sure she loved you."

"How are you sure of that?" Tom asked. "You only saw her a moment."

"Well, there was the way she looked at you, and of course the way she looked at _me_, for starters. But also—well, I just mean…" Sybil wasn't as open about her feelings or as good with words as Tom. She struggled to think of how to phrase what she meant. "Tom, how could she _not_ love you?"

She could tell from the soft look in his eyes as he smiled at her she'd gotten her point across, but she wasn't done. "And I think about if you were suddenly to go away, and how I'd feel if you reappeared with a new woman and you were engaged to her and…" She sighed. "I do feel very sad for her."

He kissed her then, a soft, slow kiss that made her heart pound. Would his kisses ever stop making her heart pound? She doubted it very much, and she hoped they never did.

"I'm not going to suddenly go away." He promised her once he'd broken the kiss and pressed his forehead to hers. "And I love that you care about other people so much. I don't understand how I could have ever lived without you."

Sybil blushed, suddenly very conscious of the fact that they were in public—a thought that had filled her with so much happiness just minutes before but now made her feel as if everyone were staring at them. She just smiled at him and mumbled, "Well, you'll never have to again." He kissed her once more before they resumed walking.

"Did you write to her?" She asked suddenly.

"What?"

"Did you ever write to her while you were gone?"

"At first." He admitted, and Sybil knew the jealousy that surged up was illogical but _oh_ the thought of Tom—_her_ Tom—writing to someone else made some little beast inside her roar. "But not for long."

"You stopped writing her before she stopped writing you." Sybil predicted.

"No. She told me she was in love with the blacksmith's son. The letter came not even two months after I got to Downton." He said it with a shrug, because he didn't care now, but Sybil knew he must have been crushed when it had happened. Tom Branson did not love halfheartedly.

"But why? How could she have chosen someone else over you?" She felt positively indignant for him, even though obviously she was glad it had happened. He laughed at her.

"We weren't engaged, Sybil. I wasn't going to Downton to make money for her or for a wedding or any thoughts you might have in your head. I thought I might I marry her, but that I could leave her behind says something to how serious things were—or weren't—between us."

That was a good point. Sybil thought of how long he'd waited for her, how long he'd remained at Downton instead of going back to Ireland, even when she'd told him she was flattered but nothing else. They came to the end of the lane they'd been walking down and Tom leaned against a tree. She suspected he was doing it because he knew how distracting she found it, the way he leaned on things—he looked very good when he did it. Sybil had confessed to him on their ill-fated elopement attempt that sometimes, in the garage, she found it hard to concentrate when he leaned against the motor.

"She didn't marry the blacksmith's son after all, though." He broke into her thoughts. "She changed her mind in the end. She wrote to me again, after that, but I…" He grinned and squeezed her hand. "I'd become quite attached to someone else."

"If she had never stopped writing you, do you think you would have come back and married her? Would you have never given me a second look?" She knew it was silly to be distressed at the thought—it hadn't happened, after all—but she couldn't help it. Molly _was_ very pretty.

"No, I don't think so."

"Easier to say in hindsight." Sybil accused with no real heat.

"I'd already given you a second look before I got that letter; I'll not deny it. And a third."

She took that in for a moment. She supposed she should feel guilty, what with the idea of him falling in love with her while Molly was waiting in Ireland, but it was hard to feel sad for the girl when she'd run off with another man, after all. Besides, all her sadness was taken up by the idea of Tom waiting so long for her.

"I do wish I'd realized earlier." She said softly. He smiled, knowing immediately where her thoughts were, and pulled her in close.

"I don't mind." He told her. "The wait made it even better. I knew you'd thought it through, knew you'd truly made a decision for yourself. I don't think you could have realized earlier, not until you were absolutely ready."

"But we could've been happy all that time." She fretted. "You're so passionate, it must have been agonizing to have to wait. And I wasn't as kind to you as I should have been."

"Well, I did have my moments of unkindness to you, as well."

They were both quiet, holding onto one another. "I'm sorry she decided she wanted the blacksmith's son more than you."

"Are you?" He sounded surprised.

"Not really, no." She admitted, making him throw back his head and laugh. "I am sorry, though, that she hurt you. I'm only glad she didn't marry you so I could have you for myself."

"As am I. I rather like the idea of you having me for yourself."

She pushed her shoulder into his chest gently and they laughed. Sybil noticed an older woman down the lane. She was carrying a basket of something, but she was watching them. She had a wistful smile on her face, probably remembering her own days in years past at the end of some lane somewhere, hand in hand with a man she loved.

It was very nice, being seen as young lovers rather than a scandal. She liked being smiled at and not frowned, and she liked not having to find excuses to visit the garage. If she wanted to see Tom, she could simply say she wanted to see him—no hidden agendas, no one asking why she was using the motor so often, no disapproving glares from her sisters or outbursts from her father. She missed her family, but she didn't regret her decision, and she knew she never would.


	4. Monsters and Ruffians

**Note: Thank you to everyone reading! This chapter is ridiculously fluffy. Seriously. I feel like I need to brush my teeth now to avoid a cavity. But I just couldn't resist. I keep meaning to write an argument between them, because we _know_ they can argue, but it hasn't happened so far. Maybe next chapter. Or maybe I'll just let them be completely isolated and happy because don't they _deserve_ it after everything and all this time?**

Tom woke in the middle of the night to a small foot being kicked into his gut. This was not unusual these days, because he was currently sharing a bed with his 4-year-old nephew, Liam, while the banns were read. Liam was, in general, a gracious host. He'd been excited to share a bed with his uncle (he called Tom "New Friend!" because they hadn't met previous to moving in together) and had even let him choose a stuffed bear. He'd also proclaimed, very solemnly, that bed wetting was not permitted. Tom had wholeheartedly agreed, and they'd become fast friends.

But Liam had a tendency to kick in his sleep, and in the week they'd been sharing a bed, he'd broken the no-bed-wetting rule twice. Tom kept reminding himself he only had to endure two more weeks. Then he'd have a much better companion. He smiled at the thought. Two more weeks and he and Sybil would be married. It was almost like a dream—a dream he'd had for years and years, but had sometimes doubted would ever come true.

Sybil gave him great credit for his faith and hope and patience and all the other virtues she could sometimes be persuaded to bestow on him, but she didn't know he'd told himself more times than he could count to give up, to forget her, to go back to Ireland and never return to England. There had been so many nights, fueled by desperation mixed with whiskey, that he'd packed his suitcase and written out a goodbye to her, and so many mornings when he'd catch sight of her in the yard and change his mind.

There had been that awful time during the war when every conversation they'd had seemed to end in someone stomping away angrily; so many tense words, heavy silences, and exasperated sighs between them. He'd told himself time and again he was a fool for hanging on, told himself Mrs. Hughes was right and he'd find himself unceremoniously out in the road one day, but always, always, when he was ready to take his own advice, he'd see the flicker in her eyes, see the uncertainty as she denied her feelings, and his fragmented heart would leap up and tape itself back together again.

And then there were the happy times, the early days when their friendship had first bloomed thanks to politics and women's rights; he thought back to how young they'd both been and laughed a little. There had been happy times during the war, as well—stolen conversations in the garage, idle chitchat while he worked on the motor and she stitched away at something or other, having taken up needlework because she found it impossible to sit idle anymore. She'd knitted him a scarf, even though it was the dead of summer, and he'd refused to let her take it back even when it became obvious it was too short to do him any good.

Their love had grown how he felt love should—through laughter and happiness, through tension, through anger, through desperation, as the world seemed to be crashing down around them and war tore men to pieces. He'd seen her at her best, all dressed up in her finery with a genuine smile on her face as she'd playfully curtsied for him and laughed joyfully, and he'd seen her at her worst, her apron blood-smeared, hands shaking, face tight with the effort of not letting her tears spill from her eyes as she told him in a wobbly voice that another soldier had passed, had lost this battle. She'd seen his anger and his heartbreak and his happiness and his desire, and they'd learned one other's cues—what quieted his tirades, what calmed her weary heart.

He marveled that they'd done it all in secret, that they'd never let anyone in on their time together. He thought it made their memories all the more consecrated, because they were so completely _theirs_ and no one else could touch them, could pull them out and reflect.

He also marveled that they'd done it all without touching, for the most part. He'd never known that kind of intimacy, had never known he could learn to comfort her without pulling her into his arms or that she could still his anger with just a word or a look. And of course, if had taken more self-control than he'd ever known he'd possessed not to at least hold her hand.

Of course, now that they _could_ touch, they reveled in it—when he ranted, she loved being able to lay a hand on his arm; when he could see worry and doubt tight across her face he relished kissing her until she relaxed.

Tom winced as Liam thrashed out again. He rolled over to get away from those little feet. He wondered if Sybil kicked in her sleep. Somehow he thought he wouldn't mind as much if she did; waking up to her face every morning certainly seemed worth a few jabs. Although he didn't plan on keeping his distance during the night like he did with Liam, so maybe it would hurt more. She was definitely stronger than Liam, as well.

"Uncle Tom?" Liam's little voice made him jump a little. He rolled back over to face his nephew and saw the boy was trembling.

"Liam, what's wrong? Are you alright?" Heaven forbid he should be sick. Tom didn't know if he could handle it. That would just be too many child bodily functions thrown his way in so little time.

"I think there's a monster under the bed." Liam was completely serious, so Tom thought it best not to laugh at him. He'd had his fair share of monsters under the bed as child, too, and he remembered the very real terror.

"You think so?" He asked. Liam nodded solemnly, his lower lip starting to quiver. Tom pushed the covers off. "Would you like me to check?"

Liam's eyes went wide. "What if he gets you?"

"Oh, don't you worry. I've fought monsters before, you know." He got out of the bed and crouched down. Liam scooted as close to the edge of the bed as he dared, hugging his bear tightly as he watched Tom. Tom made a show of searching thoroughly, putting his whole head under the bed and everything. Then, to be safe, he checked the closet.

"I don't see anything." He informed Liam. "Is there anywhere else I should check?"

Liam shook his head, awe filling his eyes. "You're brave."

Tom couldn't help it—he felt himself swelling with pride. So what if the praise was bestowed by an incredibly groggy 4-year-old after looking around an empty room for imaginary monsters? Liam was so obviously impressed that Tom took the admiration happily. He climbed back into bed very proud indeed. Liam stuck his thumb in his mouth and snuggled into Tom's side, falling back into sleep almost instantly. He probably wouldn't even remember the whole thing in the morning.

The next night, they had a big family dinner at Tom's mother's home, all his siblings and their spouses and children. Liam refused to leave his side the whole night and spent all of dinner on Tom's lap, sharing his plate. Tom didn't mind, and he couldn't help but notice the way Sybil couldn't take her eyes off him. She was a bit shyer with children, having never been around them much. Tom only had one younger brother, but he'd had plenty of cousins and nieces and nephews and other families with younger children living close by.

Tom's brother Lee, Liam's father, took the boy after he fell asleep on Tom's shoulder so Tom and Sybil could take a walk. They hadn't had a moment together the whole night, and Lee remembered being engaged. He'd winked at them as he took Liam. Tom rolled his eyes but smiled his thanks.

"Liam is very taken with you." Sybil said as they let themselves quietly out of the house, almost sneaking so they could have time alone.

"Well, we had a scare with a monster last night." Tom informed her seriously as he took her hand. "I was quite heroic, I'll have you know."

"Were you?" She giggled a little as they walked to the tree at the end of the lane, which was quickly becoming "their" spot.

"Oh, yes. I made sure under the bed and the closet were clear."

"And you weren't scared at all?" She teased.

"Only a little." They stopped in front of the tree and immediately stepped into each other's embrace. "But I knew if I let a monster stay in the room he might get me in the night and I wouldn't get to see you in the morning."

"That would be a tragedy indeed." She kissed him then and he forgot for a minute what they were talking about. When they broke apart, she rested her head against his chest and he dropped his cheek to the top of her head. "You're very good with children," she said, her voice slightly muffled.

He shrugged. "I've had practice."

She was quiet another minute. He could tell she had something on her mind. "I don't…Tom, I've never been around children. Not since I was one. I don't know what to do with them." She sounded distressed. He kissed her hair.

"You'll learn."

"What if I don't? What if we have a child and I'm a terrible mother and our son or daughter turns out to be a…a…a _ruffian_ because I didn't know how to be a mother?"

Tom struggled not to laugh, but it didn't work terribly well. "A ruffian?"

"Oh, never mind." She started to push away from him but he held her close.

"No, I'm sorry." He said. "You're worried; I shouldn't laugh."

"I can just already tell you'll be a good father and I…I don't know if I can live up to that." She sounded ashamed.

"You've nothing to live up to." He assured her, tilting her chin up so she'd look him in the eyes. "I don't know anything, truly. I can be a cousin and an uncle, but I've never been a father. We'll be lost together. If we have a ruffian it'll be both our faults, I promise."

She laughed and kissed him. "That's one of my favorite promises you've ever made."


End file.
